27 Tavorhel. The twenty-fourth day of the eighth month.

Tarigen sat on his bed with a pile of books laid neatly by his side. His room smelled of aged wood and paper, the area lit up with only four lanterns placed in each corner. No window connected him to the outside, with only scrolls of art decorating the otherwise cold stone brick walls. The room technically wasn’t even his bedroom, but a repurposed storage room underneath Amovishel’s living quarters now used as a small library.

He had been relocated here ever since Amovishel left the palace in a hurry. Without its head, the Eastern Palace, Amovishel’s residence, was now temporarily led by Barheila, the young girl being in control of virtually everything pertaining to these quarters. As a precautionary measure, Tarigen was sent here, a place far more secure than his dormitory with the other students. His green eyes were simply too big of a risk to even head out to the streets.

But for him, it was honestly quite peaceful in this secluded area. He explored the books in the library every day, sometimes exchanging conversations with the guards outside his door. Treatises on government, philosophy, science, economics… There was a surprising variety of genres he could dive into given the library’s small size. From the condition of the books, it seemed that they were all at least half a century old, some even dating from before the war even began. A period of peace forgotten by most already, lost in the sands of time.

The door creaked. Looking up, Tarigen saw Barheila enter, her eyes a little sunken, her body cumbersome from taking on the sudden influx of work. It had been around a week since they last met, Barheila recently being slightly more involved with the palace as a whole after managing to maintain the daily routines within the palace.

It was borderline criminal to have someone take up such responsibility yet lacking the appropriate power. Granted, it was mostly administrative work, tasks usually assigned to her on a daily basis anyway. Yet there was also a strange increase of bureaucratic procedures specifically in the Eastern Palace. The servants were working slower than before, but the managers requested forms of evidence before Barheila could even deliver the appropriate punishments. Whenever she sought to enter the royal court, she was blocked on the grounds of ‘lacking permission from a member of the court’. With only Amovishel’s word being her source of evidence, she couldn’t even deliver a proper response before being pushed out of the gates. In the court’s eyes, she was still an aide, someone who lacked the power to truly be involved as an advisor. In the servants’ eyes, she was just a Rhinish hostage, someone who relied on the backing of the prince to even have standing in the palace itself.

There were also letters from Prentdor, from troops formerly under the prince’s direct command. Even when Amovishel was recalled from the front, the generals felt it an obligation to continue reporting major updates to the situation of the war. Without knowing about the current crisis, the letters kept arriving at the Eastern Palace, Barheila having to imitate Amovishel’s writing style in the replies. On one hand, it was a show of continuous loyalty, yet on the other hand, it only added unnecessary workload to Barheila, her hands already full from managing every detail of Amovishel’s work alone.

All this just to maintain a facade of normalcy in the palace itself.

‘Hey,’ he greeted.

‘Hey.’ Barheila sat next to him, casually grabbing a book by her side. ‘You’re not too bored, are you?’

‘No,’ Tarigen answered. ‘It’s definitely a less fun lifestyle compared to before, but I actually quite enjoy this. The books keep me company. You’re still doing fine?’

‘Not really. I’m still pretty removed from the main processes of the royal court. It’s hard for an amber-eyed girl with Rhinish ancestry to be trusted by the old advisors in the court. Oh, not to mention a seventeen-year-old amber-eyed girl.’

‘No luck getting into the court itself?’

‘Still nope. Amovishel never gave me permission to enter the royal court alone, and as I’m obviously not a messenger of any kind, I can’t simply barge in and include myself in their discourse. Still better than you in your prison cell though.’

‘This isn’t a prison cell!’ Tarigen protested.

‘Sure looks like one.’

‘Well, I wonder who put me in this “prison cell”, then?’

The two stared at each other for a long moment, locking their gazes together in seeming hostility. Finally, as Tarigen blinked and turned his head away, Barheila laughed in amusement.

‘What is this, a staring contest?’

Tarigen sighed. ‘Well, at least you still have your sense of humour. Somewhat.’

‘Have to loosen up every once in a while before the stress really gets to me.’

‘This reminds me,’ Tarigen realised. ‘How’s Amovishel doing? For how much the king supposedly cares about him, there’s not much news on him recently.’

‘Uh, well…’ The atmosphere became heavy, Barheila looking at the wall as if searching for an answer.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘... I was going to tell you this as I came in, actually,’ Barheila said. ‘I didn’t expect you to bring it up before I did.’

‘So, what happened?’ It was a little uncomfortable how Barheila was dragging the conversation a little.

‘You see… Apparently Amovishel was captured by the rebels.’

‘H-How?’ he asked. It was almost unthinkable for Amovishel, one of the brightest people Tarigen knew, to be defeated, let alone captured. It didn’t feel possible.

How did she pull that off?

Barheila sighed. ‘A major military blunder. General Arael was killed as well, from a conversation I overheard the other day. The entire palace is freaking out. Things are developing at a far more rapid pace than I imagined.’

Even the average person would be aware of the consequences brought forth from the heir to the kingdom being captured by the enemy. The panic would cause at least some disarray in the high command, their minds fully focused on rescuing Amovishel than the greater picture of the war. Tarigen didn’t know whether the armies in Prentdor knew about this, but the moment the forces knew about this, it would greatly affect the local morale. Rhinn could easily exploit the chaos to begin their own offensive. Everything would gradually snowball together, and at the end… Tarigen couldn’t imagine what end it would bring.

And the most ridiculous of it all… Foresters almost never took prisoners after a battle, being an extra mouth to feed and all that, no matter how little food that would cost. And Tarigen knew she likely had no idea who Amovishel was, at least probably until the prince was captured.

It didn’t feel true at all.

Over the weeks in solitude, he had spent many hours pondering over the Forester rebellion itself, particularly its white-haired leader. It was probably her, even if everything that happened thus far seemed so out of character for her. However strong she may be in individual combat, she lacked the vision and grand schemes of a proper commander.

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At least those were Tarigen’s last observations before he left for Trellien two years ago.

‘Are you thinking of something?’ Barheila asked. ‘You’re spacing out. It’s almost like you went dreaming with your eyes open.’

‘It doesn’t feel true. The capture, that is,’ he answered. ‘Everyone knows how capable he is. With the amount of Foresters that rebelled, it’s basically impossible for General Arael to be killed and Amovishel captured.’

‘Exactly, right?’ Barheila agreed. ‘Given the numbers of the rebellion, I’m afraid there might be some sort of intervention going on… I’m surprised no one has investigated Rhinn’s role in all of this.’

‘That’s because Rhinn doesn’t have a role in this,’ Tarigen said. ‘I don’t think the Forester rebellion, their members most likely having fought for both Trelven and Rhinn, would ally with the other oppressor, if they even have the means to.’

‘How are you this sure?’

‘I speak as a Forester myself.’

‘... Your words sound strangely like some people in this kingdom,’ Barheila criticised. ‘Not all Foresters think or act the same. I’m sure you know that—’

‘What if I told you I personally know the rebellion’s leader herself?’

Barheila paused mid-sentence, her eyes wide in terror.

‘Y-You… Do not bring that up again,’ she frantically said.

‘I’m actually not sure, but I can hazard a guess… I thought this is supposed to be a secure area?’

‘Just… Please, don’t. It’s hard enough keeping you alive and fed in Amovishel’s absence already.’

‘Sorry,’ Tarigen bowed his head. ‘You’ve been through a lot recently, and I’m just here to cause you more trouble.’

‘Hey, it’s not as bad as having my parents leaving me behind when they could finally go back to Rhinn.’

‘Don’t mention that again…’

It was a story Amovishel once told him about a year back. Barheila was Rhinish by ethnicity, but she was born in the royal palace in Trellien… in the servants’ quarters. Her parents were nobles, captured in a raid many years ago and presented to the royal court as servants. It wasn’t a terrible life… other than the occasional beatings, shouts and starvation from her parents. The other servants at first took pity on her, but that soon gave way as her body grew to be too weak to even do the usual chores properly.

When Barheila turned thirteen, her parents were finally ransomed by some distant relatives, but naturally, they didn’t include her. She was practically Trelvenese to her Rhinish relatives and parents. They had no need for a tiny, malnutritioned girl who only knew how to smile and do menial tasks.

Apparently it was King Tavorhel who decided to keep her. No one really knew the reason behind his actions, only that Barheila was then given to Amovishel as a courtier, eventually serving the prince as his aide. Tarigen had asked if it was actually Amovishel who wanted to keep her in the palace, but the prince never answered.

‘Now we both have something we don’t want the other to say,’ Barheila smiled. ‘We’re even.’

Sometimes, Tarigen wondered if Barheila could’ve been a distinguished noblewoman had she been born in Rhinn, far away from the capital of her parents’ enemies.

‘Anyway,’ Barheila said as she took a deep breath. ‘Amovishel. How do we go about rescuing him? That was also one of the things I wanted to discuss with you about.’

‘Your hands are full enough already with work. You’re going to really push yourself over the edge at this rate.’

‘And leave the job for the royal court, over half of which don’t like him because of the colour of his hair?’ Barheila argued. ‘Besides, once he comes back, I’ll have less to do, so it’s for my own benefit as well.’

‘Well, I guess you aren’t wrong,’ Tarigen shrugged.

‘But as for how… I’m still struggling to think of a solution. I thought about a ransom as that’s the most common way to deal with hostages, but I know next to nothing about Forester culture. Also, the rebels haven’t even demanded anything yet as far as I know, making our efforts even more difficult.’

‘And that’s where I, a Forester, come in?’

‘Do you have any ideas?’

‘Well…’ Tarigen scratched his chin. ‘To be honest, we have no culture of taking prisoners.’

‘What?’ Barheila’s face was filled with shock and confusion.

‘Think of how little rations we get,’ Tarigen explained. ‘It didn’t matter whether a prisoner was a soldier, a general or a noble. They need food as well. Who’s going to be willing to sacrifice a bit of their meal to keep a captive alive?’

‘But wouldn’t you get rewards for capturing— oh, never mind.’

‘Exactly. There’s basically nothing in it for us to take captives.’

‘Without knowing the motive behind capturing him, how can we make them return him then?’

‘Well, there’s always force—’

‘We do not want to risk Amovishel getting hurt in all this,’ Barheila quickly interrupted. ‘Unfortunately, it’s also what the king has basically decided to risk by sending Commander-General Esiel.’

‘No way… Surely the king should know the dangers of sending that man.’

‘I can’t speak for the king, but given how much the commander-general and Amovishel are at odds with each other… We need to act somehow before our prince gets sacrificed in this madness.’

Sacrifice… An idea sparked inside Tarigen’s mind.

‘Wait.’

‘What?’ Barheila asked.

‘What if I was “under arrest”? I’m sure no one will object to you holding me captive in the prince’s residence, deprived of any sunlight and social interaction until a hostage trade can be negotiated.’

‘But that’s the situation you’re in already.’

‘Exactly. We should be able to work this out if the king agrees to it. In the views of many advisors, I’m in league with the rebels, and therefore, the rebellion would supposedly see me as someone valuable to their cause. Meanwhile, the royal court will finally have an excuse to kick me out while getting the prince back without harm. All I need is to send a letter to the rebellion’s leader, and if she’s who I think she is, she should be able to agree to the swap.’

‘That’s genius!’ Barheila praised. ‘I’ll try to enter the royal court again tomorrow with your proposal— wait.’

‘What now?’ It was Tarigen’s turn to be confused.

‘There are too many holes. Aren’t you sacrificing yourself in the process? You aren’t part of the rebellion, and going there will just earn you the name of a traitor, even when you did do it for the sake of Amovishel. Also, what if they don’t agree to the swap? Isn’t that just putting yourself out there for nothing? And what if I still can’t enter the royal court? There are just too many variables to make this plan work. The more I think about it, the more unrealistic it becomes.’

‘It’s worth a shot.’

‘You’re a very good friend as well, Tarigen,’ Barheila said earnestly. ‘I can’t agree to risking you over something that probably won’t work.’

‘Can I tell you something?’

‘What is it?’

Tarigen put his mouth near Barheila’s ear. ‘The thing is… With all due respect to Amovishel, as a Forester, I’d rather serve the rebellion than Trelven. I’d feel like a prisoner after staying here for a long while anyway. In the entire kingdom, only you, Amovishel and the other students respect me on relatively equal terms. Without you all, I’m just a worthless, unfit Forester wasting precious Trelvenese resources.’

‘Do you know that this is… t-treason?’ The word barely came out of Barheila’s mouth, her body frozen in shock.

‘It’s not treason if I’m not considered a citizen of the kingdom in the first place.’

Barheila fell back onto the bed in defeat. ‘You’re right. I guess if your plan does work, you will be benefitted as well. But… you know what this means, right?’

‘If I do successfully join the rebellion, I’ll be an enemy,’ Tarigen calmly said. ‘I’m well aware of that. All this education and time spent together, and this is how I repay you all. I’m sorry.’

‘You know,’ Barheila replied. ‘I understand your position. It’s not your fault the kingdom treats non-Trelvenese like shit. Amovishel might be devastated though.’

‘Now that I’ve revealed to you my disloyalty to Trelven, what will you do?’ Tarigen smiled.

Barheila stood up from the bed. ‘I guess I have no other choice but to arrest you. Tarigen the Forester, you are under arrest on suspicion of treason. I will report to the king of your crimes, and here you will stay until a proper and fair judgement is delivered.’

She opened the door and exited as she waved back at Tarigen. ‘You’re still a very good friend.’

‘I know.’

‘Have fun in your prison cell!’

They laughed.